


Life Bleeds Out

by Capucine



Category: Brave (2012), How to Train Your Dragon (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe -- No Dragons, Dark Disney, F/M, Historicalish, Language Barrier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-10
Updated: 2015-02-10
Packaged: 2018-03-11 11:24:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3325697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Capucine/pseuds/Capucine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hiccup is a Viking. Viking warriors raid to feed their people and become rich. The Scots are an easy enough target; however, Hiccup is all too human, and mourns a warrior lass he tries to console in her last moments.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Life Bleeds Out

She was painted, bright blue across her cheeks, which still had the slight chub of a child. She wore a kilt like any other warrior, and showed no shame about her bare legs. One hand holding a spear, the other a round shield, she seemed the untouchable shield maiden of the Scots.

Hiccup, one loose cannon of a Viking, saw her among the enemy they had come to invade.

It was a clattering mess of noise, the smell of lit houses and the sound of screaming women and children mixing to make Hiccup faint.

It was his first battle. It was his first raid.

Astrid made a beeline for the warrioress, as if to prove that she was better, that the Scottish maiden didn’t belong here as much as she did. Hiccup was nearly swallowed in the cacophony.

He stumbled about, narrowly avoiding being attacked by the locals. Clan Dunbroch was a force to be reckoned with, but they were not Vikings. Vikings were tenacious, the best of the best, the terror upon the Christian God’s disobedient followers.

There were those who said that Vikings were demons from their underworld.

They didn’t live long after saying it, of course, but it was what was often said by their thralls.

He didn’t want to be there. People were dying, hacked down where they stood. He saw more blood than he ever wanted to see in a lifetime. 

Fishlegs bumped into him, and he said, “Hiccup! Use your axe, or they’re seriously going to kill you!”

He swung it uselessly, as the Scots charged with spears. It was only Snotlout’s quick intervention that saved him from being gored.

“Watch out, or did you want to be a kebab?”

Snotlout would lord it over him later, how much he needed to improve with his fighting and how he always spent time reading books. But now was not the time to worry about it.

He ran through the streets, heading for the castle, where the greatest riches would be held.

He had lost sight of the redheaded warrioress, until the moment he tripped. He heard a pained gasp, and he had to look.

There she lay, blood coating her lips, as she held her trembling fingers over an axe wound. There was no hope of stopping up the blood enough, and there was no hope of repairing it. She looked over at him, and glared, though her lips quivered with fear. Not of him, of course: of the great beyond.

He wished he could tell her only good things awaited warriors. As it was, he stopped, and knelt next to her. “Hey, it’s going to be okay; you’ll go to Valhalla,” he promised, gently pushing back her hair from where it stuck to her lips.

She looked at him incredulously, the language barrier surely reducing his words to babble to her. She was breathing fast, and would expire soon at that rate.

Hiccup could feel the lump in his throat. Why couldn’t he be one of the Vikings who stayed home and farmed, or read, or did anything besides fight?

She watched him still, slowly spiraling into death.

He started humming a Viking tune, not sure how to comfort a fellow young warrior who was dying. He didn’t care if she was on the opposite side; seeing someone so young, near his age, being snuffed out scared him. He didn’t know, didn’t believe, that he was deserving of Valhalla. He didn’t know it would really be where he went.

She was taking in raspy breaths now. Her eyes, a soul-searching blue, landed on his face, seemed to relax.

He gently pushed her curly hair from around her face, and said, “You’ll go to Valhalla. You’ll see us all there someday, but we’ll be friends, and we’ll fight all day and feast all night, and we’ll never be unhappy. You’ll see; it’s all for the best.”

He didn’t quite get to see the light go out of her eyes, that misting over that signified death.

A rough hand grabbed his shoulder, yanking him to his feet. It was his father, Stoick the Vast. “Hiccup, help loot the castle and leave the girl be!”

He dragged him along, and Hiccup let himself be dragged.

He hoped he never went on another raid again, for the eyes of the Scottish girl would haunt hm forever.

Killing a single soul would never be on his conscience.


End file.
